


she's a great kid

by questionableatbest



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:27:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3378092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionableatbest/pseuds/questionableatbest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I distinctly remember dragging you and O out of more than one club, all before you turned eighteen,” he remembered fondly, retrospect clearly working in Clarke’s favor. “Are you worried our daughter will beat your record?”</p>
<p>AKA Clarke is worried when her teenage daughter stays out past curfew, and Bellamy tries to calm her down</p>
            </blockquote>





	she's a great kid

**Author's Note:**

> This will forever be known to me as 'that one overly domestic bellarke fic that I wrote at two in the morning because it was giving me feelings that I needed to forget about before I went to sleep'
> 
> Also I know a lot of people imagine Bellamy being an overly protective father, and I can see that for when their child is younger, but I kind of picture the teenage years going this way...

"Clarke, would you j-"

"DO NOT tell me to calm down again, Bellamy Blake," she snapped, pacing the floor while her husband sat calmly on the couch attempting to watch the muted hockey game.

"Fine then," he sighed, realizing that he had absolutely no chance of watching the last period, "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know!" She exclaimed, stopping in front of him and throwing her hands in the air. "Would you just try calling her?"

"Clarke, I called her half an hour ago- she's fine, I promise," he sighed, eying his wife warily. "She's probably driving home right now. Do you really want her talking on the phone and driving at the same time?"

"Her curfew is 11:00! She knew that, and she's not back yet; you should be worried!" She couldn't help the growing hysteric tone that her voice held, and she continued despite herself. "God Bell, she's only seventeen; I should never have let her go to a party."

"Clarke-" He started, not getting a chance to say anything else before she continued her rant.

"BELLAMY you can't tell me that you're okay with this! She should have been home twenty minutes ago, and the roads are slippery, and it's dark out, and god only knows what goes on at parties these days, and do you really think her friends are good influences?" Once she'd started talking she couldn't stop, and once she'd voiced the majority of her concerns she turned back around to see that her husband had stood up and that his face was only inches from hers.

"Clarke," he said again, his voice radiating the calmness that she lacked, "She's going to be fine. She hasn't given us any reasons not to trust her, okay? She's a straight A student, she volunteers every weekend, and she's never gotten into trouble. Ever. She's fine."

"But what if this is the start of all of that? Maybe she'll realize what she's missing and-"

"And what?" He asked, tracing her jawline with one finger, hoping that he could distract her. "Just because you felt the need to rebel against Abby whenever you got the chance doesn't mean that Rory will do the same to us. I like to think we taught her better than that."

"I wasn't that bad," Clarke put up a half-hearted fight, knowing that he was right and also knowing that her grounds for argument were slipping quickly.

"Right," Bellamy snorted, "Tell me, are there any bar tops in this city that you haven't danced on?"

Clarke made a show of rolling her eyes, but they both knew that she couldn't really defend herself there.

"I distinctly remember dragging you and O out of more than one club, all before you turned eighteen," he remembered fondly, retrospect clearly working in Clarke's favor. "Are you worried our daughter will beat your record?"

"Bell…" She trailed off, losing her trail of thought as his mouth ghosted down her neck.

"Princess," he replied, ending their argument as his old name for her resurfaced, prompting her to roll her eyes, before proceeding to entwine her hands in his hair and pull his mouth down to hers.

He barely put up any fight before letting Clarke take control, keeping their mouths firmly attached as she spun them around and pushed Bellamy back into his spot on the couch, and quickly straddling his lap. His hands wandered up and down her back, stroking her gently while she continued kissing his face and neck and just about anything else she should reach, staying longer on spots that she knew to be particularly sensitive.

Their moans were growing progressively needier, and Bellamy's hands had begun to wander under the fabric of her shirt, and that was probably why they didn't hear their front door open and close until their daughter was standing at the foot of the stairs with a disgusted look on her face.

"Oh my god, gross- you guys have your own room for a reason," the young girl protested, covering her eyes while her parents broke out of their trance and realized what was going on.

Clarke was the first one to speak, not moving from her husbands lap as she trained her eyes on her daughter, "Aurora Griffin-Blake, were you trying to sneak in?"

"Of course not," she replied, sounding slightly too indignant for it to be believable. "I just didn't want to wake you guys! Though now I wish I'd been louder…"

Clarke swatted at Bellamy's chest when he chuckled, and despite his hands tightening on her waist for a second she pulled herself away, moving to stand in front of the couch. "You're late. We were worried!"

"Well, you don't look particularly worried, so I'll just…" The girl motioned towards the stairs, clearly wanting to leave the room as soon as possible.

"Oh no you don't," Clarke insisted, striding closer to her daughter in the process. "Do I smell alcohol? WERE YOU DRINKING? YOU DROVE HOME!"

"Mom, god, no!" Rory objected, looking offended at the accusation. "My friends were drinking- I was making sure they got home safe, and Ray spilt a drink on me. I swear, I didn't have anything."

"We know, Rory," Bellamy said from his spot on the couch, knowing that his wives overprotective tendency was coming from a good place, "Your mom was just worried."

"Right," the girl said skeptically, which didn't surprise anybody; the Griffin-Blake women were more alike than either of them would ever admit, which often caused them to butt heads. "You guys mind if I go to bed?"

"Not at all," Bellamy said lightly, prompting his daughter to leave her spot by the stairs and sweep across the room to place a kiss on his cheek.

"Night daddy," she said sweetly, stopping briefly when she passed her mother and giving the women enough time to lean in for a hug that she returned. "Goodnight mom."

"We love you, honey," Clarke sighed into her ear, before finally pulling away and watching as the girl made a show of rolling her eyes before disappearing up the stairs.

"Well played, Mrs. Blake," Bellamy teased, as the two of them were once again left alone in the room.

"Stop it Bell," she groaned, sinking into the spot beside him on the couch, and leaning into him when he wrapped an arm around her. "How can you be so calm about everything?"

"I've done this before," he shrugged, pulling her closer and rubbing his hand up and down her arm. "I mean, I started raising Octavia when she was 13, so I know what I'm doing. There comes a point when you just have to trust that you've done a good job of raising them, and that they can handle themselves."

"Right," Clarke grumbled, "You're telling me you never freaked out at O? Because I was there, and I remember being on the receiving end of those lectures more than one time."

"And what good did they do?" He asked, sounding wiser than Clarke wanted to give him credit for. "You guys still did stupid shit on a daily basis- probably just to spite me. She trusts us, and she needs to know that we trust her too. She's a great kid; you just have to trust that."

"I know," Clarke mumbled into his shoulder, still not ready to admit that her baby was growing up. "Jesus, you're a good father."

"And you're a damn good mother," he said sternly, relaxing when he felt her smile and breath something that sounded suspiciously like one of the 'I love you's' that he had grown so used to hearing, before leaning up and placing a kiss on his cheek.


End file.
